


My Shining Star

by glymr



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing - Fandom, Robin - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-23
Updated: 2009-12-23
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:48:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/790009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glymr/pseuds/glymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course the notebook will be full of plans and plans of plans. Probably all in some obscure code that Tim invented -- Dick opens the notebook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Shining Star

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shine](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/21252) by cosmicastaway. 



> This is a riff on cosmicastaway 's unfinished "Shineverse" storyline (an alternate universe where Nightwing is a rock star and Tim is his manager). Written with her permission and blessing. This story stands alone, but reading the original which inspired it may make it a richer experience.
> 
> cosmicastaway's original Shineverse (unfinished):  
> [Shine I](http://cosmicastaway.livejournal.com/661775.html#cutid1) | [Shine II](http://cosmicastaway.livejournal.com/662269.html#cutid1) | [Shine III](http://cosmicastaway.livejournal.com/662278.html#cutid1) | [Shine IV](http://cosmicastaway.livejournal.com/663330.html#cutid1) | [Shine V](http://cosmicastaway.livejournal.com/664354.html#cutid1) |

It's late when Dick gets up, but the calls of nature won't be denied. He casts about for something to look at while he's sitting down and fetches up short. Tim's curled on the couch, still in his clothes, his notebook and pencil having slipped from his grasp.  
  
His notebook.  
  
The boy's breathing is deep and even. He doesn't stir when Dick silently, carefully tip-toes up to him. He doesn't wake when Dick lifts the notebook off the floor where it landed and steals out of the room with it.  
  
Of course the notebook will be full of plans and plans of plans. Probably all in some obscure code that Tim invented -- Dick opens the notebook.  
  
It's full of music.  
  
The notebook is full of music.  
  
Not the whole thing...there are plans and notes and reminders and thoughts jotted down in Tim's tiny, neat, perfect letters. But there are also pages of lyrics, of notes that rise and fall and intertwine on carefully ruled staffs.  
  
Dick pages through them, losing track of time. He comes to one song and his hands twitch, hungry for a guitar. He's finished his business and is halfway to his instrument before he realizes - he can't play this. If he starts playing music, Tim will wake up, and if he wakes up, he'll know exactly what Dick's playing, and where he got it.  
  
Dammit. He *wants* to hear this. He grabs a few pieces of staff paper instead - he'll damn well copy the piece and try it out next time he's on his own. The chorus plays in his head again, hauntingly.  
  
 _You were the one, always the one_  
 _Glittering from afar_  
 _Now I orbit you as we orbit the sun_  
 _An endless dance 'round my shining star  
_

* * *

He's almost done copying. Just a few more lines...  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"I'm almost done," he says as casually as he can with his heart suddenly in his throat.  
  
"The song isn't."  
  
Dick looks up. "You don't even know which song I'm copying."  
  
"None of the ones in that notebook are finished." Dick's eyebrows go up and Tim bites his lip. Perhaps he hadn't meant to let on that there were notebooks that _had_ finished songs.  
  
"It looks pretty done to me," says Dick, going back to his work. Tim frowns, hesitating, then steps into the room, crosses to the kitchen table. Puts his hand on the notebook. Dick reaches out and covers Tim's hand with his own. "Tim," he says quietly. Tim blinks at him in surprise. "This song is...it's alive. Don't kill it. Maybe...maybe there's such a thing as being *too* perfect." Tim stares at him, clearly confused. Dick squeezes his hand. "Go get your guitar," he says. Tim waits a moment longer, then pulls his hand away.  
  
He returns, looking a little shell-shocked, just as Dick finishes the last few notes. Dick pushes the notebook towards him and says, "Can you really play that?" pointing to the second guitar part. Tim doesn't look at him, just nods and opens up his case.  
  
Dick goes and gets his own guitar. After a few minutes of fiddling, he strums across the strings and begins to play, just the chorus for now. Tim comes in right on cue, following his lead, the complex chords of the two parts interweaving like magic. Dick starts to sing and, after a minute, Tim does too, carrying the harmony.  
  
It's easy to tell a trained voice from an untrained one. Tim's voice isn't spectacular, but it's not bad, either, and at some point the kid had some good singing lessons along with his guitar. Dick kind of knew that already; on those rare occasions when Dick's had the harmony part, Tim would help him learn it by singing the part for him.  
  
It's different singing *with* him. It's easy...amazingly easy, their voices blending, supporting each other, the guitar parts dancing around each other. They come to the end and Dick nods and says, "Now you take the lead."  
  
Tim looks at him, but he doesn't say anything, just nods and closes his eyes. He can do that, of course - he wrote the piece. His voice rises up and Nightwing does his best to follow; Tim really is better at harmony than he.  
  
When they finish a second time, Dick stares at his manager. "Why aren't you out there with me, again?" he asks.  
  
Tim shrugs. "That's not the job I wanted," he says, and gathers his notebook and the copy Dick made. The paper shivers as he picks it up, and Dick realizes that Tim's hands are shaking. Before he can think he's reaching out, wrapping one hand around Tim's.  
  
"Are you all right?" he asks.  
  
Tim is very still. He swallows, then gives Dick a little smile. "Yeah," he says. "I'm fine." He pulls away and finishes collecting the music, the copy, and his guitar, leaving Dick alone in the kitchen at four o'clock in the morning.


End file.
